


Dirty Talk

by anoetic



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoetic/pseuds/anoetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been weeks since they’ve last fucked, so Tom decides to give Bill a little phone call…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are appreciated and encouraged, thank you!

He woke me up this morning with a tender kiss to my forehead. This was the engraving of his first apology to me. It was an act of cowardice that I was willing to embrace. In the days that passed during his absence I was a wreck. I had pawned off all of my intelligence in place for a selfish abandonment that left my heart hollow and my body rotten and unloved. (“Bill, what in the fuck were you thinking?” he yells as his hand smashes against my cheek more than once.) This would be my first act of defiance and when I had confessed to him the night he finally returned home, he had slapped me hard across my face. “Bill,” he said quietly, bringing his lips down the darkened plains of my jawline. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Tom was immortalizing his presence on my skin, forever haunting my body, he, its mountain King and I, his faithful mistress.

This is why he would visit me only at night for this was when my love was strongest. In the darkness of the night I had become a master of love making. The act of love would become a second nature to me. He would come to me, tightly woven, ardor cruelly coiling around every tendon and vein, the skeleton of my name the foundation of his unbearable sadness for me. Tom would come to me, my tired soldier, wounded missionary. I was his secret, his mistress, the one who would divine him with the finest luxuries, the one who knew how to comfort him best; with my body. 

At first I complained, vehemently and bravely rebuked such a destiny. Often times I had resorted to criminalizing and thus separating myself from his reality by subjecting myself to a self-induced psychosis that comforted me only briefly. Such sedation provided me with a selfish anger, a reservoir of temporary rebellion. I had waged war against my brother. This was my second act of defiance and perhaps my most affectionate. The problem with Tom was that he would always flee the scene of the crime, his hands soiled with his offense and my body, fucked and loved, would be the obvious evidence to his betrayal. Each theft earned him the same satisfaction which, like his courage, would also flee with him. This is why I constantly had to restock and reassemble my sensitivity, to always ration and tighten the threads of my sexuality behind closed doors because at night, my tired soldier would come to me, ambrosia and debauchery heavy on his lips.

His hands would walk through the trembling forests of my skin, fingertips wedging into my rib cage, uncovering pre-written accusations, octaves of love sighs that he never thought I had the lungs to sing. Sometimes he would find scattered blossoms of forgiveness that I had forgotten to hang out to dry. This too, would flee from the crime scene, dissolving into a paper thin melancholia that I would later scratch out of my hair in the morning, often it would hold the scent of his body. My brother called me earlier this evening.

“Where are you?”

“I am in my room. Why?”

“I want you to get naked.”

I remember suddenly feeling very scared and very excited, my mind diluting into a childish euphoria lighted only by his masterful hand. Through Tom, I was led by a beautiful stranger’s hand, to unimaginable worlds. There was a raw significance in the heaviness of his voice. The legato of his voice symbolized to me, the weight of his desire for me, to have me splayed on my back, his finest course, submissive and naked as I was in that moment. My hands shake with a fragile severity. I am becoming terribly aroused at this point and shame no longer troubles me and I want nothing more than my tired soldier’s dick shoved inside me and the thought almost makes me come. My shirt is rejected, sadly falling to the floor. I cannot hear anything but the slowness of his breath, fever love laced with the ecstasy of my name. He is breathing for me, my tired soldier. My own breath puffs out in broken susurrations, all of which were brought forth only from the sound of his own desire for me which was now delicately snowing down the quivering hills of my thighs, showering me in an unclean perversion.

My pants are kicked to the floor along with my underwear. I inhale another nervous breath and pause to look at myself, an entirely new form of beauty delicately created solely from womb of his voice. I look at the widening roads of my legs, breathlessly run my fingers over tattooed skin and I realize that this is how I was born and it is also how I will be born again. My cock twitches and I hiss through my teeth, my fingers inching closer to my arousal, aching to soothe my fire. I have not asked for such a privilege. “I’m naked.” 

“Are you laying down?”

The urgency in his voice is veiled and I imagine the veil of his hand over his dick and I moan into the phone, my legs shaking. “Yes.” “I’m so hard right now.” My head sinks into the pillow and my eyes darken with a dangerous want, my hands ghost over the shores of my thighs, begging me. He knows the rules to this game for he has created it. He chuckles, the vibrations of his voice sends pinpricks through my system and my heart leaps into my throat. His voice is still heavy and I can imagine his hand gracefully palming the bulging head of his erection, dribbles of precome sneaking between his fingers. Instantly, my legs part as if he were here, automatically welcoming him into the dirtiest parts of Heaven without question, obliging him to deflower and desecrate his Palace, my tired soldier.

“Please, Tom,” I whisper. He has stolen my voice along with my body, one reason why his is so weighty, so much so that I can feel its fingers shower my skin with an unspeakable pleasure. “Tell me what you want, Billa.” He is hard now. His hand is woven around his dick, but he isn’t ready to move just yet. He wants to relieve me. “Oh God.” My eyes flutter again, silk screens of him overloading me, my cheeks burn and my body is slowly numbing with an unmasked desperation to be loved. My thighs spread apart further, the wisps of his voice traveling down the crumbling valley of my stomach, igniting a hell storm of need and I open my eyes to see him hovering over me, a testament to my position in his world. His mountainous Adonis body, honey dipped skin reminiscent of my own, his hands hooked to my knees as he attentively hoists them up over his shoulders. He is bleeding sex and it is here that I want him to fuck me. His dick is hard, throbbing, angry, mine. It is beautiful and a speechless embodiment of his magnificent power.

“Please,” I pant, my hands unconsciously gluing themselves to the undersides of my knees as I lift my ass in the air, exposing myself to no one but a dream. “Please fuck me, Tom.” I almost climax when these words leave my lips. I rehearse them everyday, they are my swan song. I am careful to dutifully scrutinize the appropriate tone that would please him, which syllable absorbs the strength of my desire and pools it before his feet, or how sweetly I must speak his name so that he will fuck me until I can’t walk. He groans and I know that he is jerking himself off. I begin to salivate, my lips wet and my chest pounding, anxiously rocking my body back and forth, rumpling the sheets as I can feel my hole slowly being filled by the beauty veins of his cock. “A-again,” he says. 

“Say that again.”

The remnants of his voice had denatured into pure sex and I moaned louder into the phone, my finger now prodding at my aching hole which was now being steadily and royally fucked by his imaginary dick, my virgin walls widening to accommodate every inch of him. A severed whimper falls from my lips and my breathing stutters as I become the stigmata of innocence. “Please fuck me, Tom.” He groans deeply, the crescendo of his voice warning me that he is bordering on the edge. I want to be there with him and so I prepare my eulogy. I lick my lips, savoring the constant feeling of you swarming inside of me. “I want your big fucking dick, Tom. W-want you to fuck me s-so hard that I can’t m-move.” My lips bruise from the onslaught of kisses that he is blessing me with and I continue to praise him. I can see his hand moving quicker and my fingers wedge further inside of me. I will catch him. “I want you to f-fuck me, Tom. M-make me your f-fucking little s-slut.” 

My lids clamp shut and his dick is scarring me so perfectly that I involuntarily shout, my hand desperately rifling the sheets as my hips barrel down on my fingers. “Oh fuck oh shit oh god oh fuck Bill.” He gasps this through strained pants as if it were a mantra and I wonder if it is something he practices every day like I do. I wonder if he closes himself away from the world like I, denying its unnatural vanity and morality, only to invent his own through the helpless pleadings of my name. “Oh God, you’re fucking me s-so good, Tom. So f-fucking good.” “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his allegiance to me increasing like the speed of my fingers twisting in and out of my quivering body. The phone suddenly feels so very much like him and I hurriedly plunge another finger into my ass. “More,” he commands. “Tell me more. Tell me how I’m fucking you.”

He has perfected his vanity and for this, I will reward him endlessly. “Oh my God.” I moan prettily into the phone, absently licking the hot shell of it as if I am tasting him, drinking him and my fingers are swallowed in my hole. My hips buck defiantly against them, thighs trembling so beautifully as I begin to haggardly rock against my fingers, manically fucking myself. I can feel my lower limbs evaporating into lavender and I begin to prepare myself for the fall. “Y-your dick is g-going in and out of my ass. Y-your balls are s-slapping against it you’re fucking me so h-hard. F-fuck your little slut, Tom.” I almost lost my breath as I spoke for I could envision this happening so effortlessly and that was the problem that neither of us cared to seek an answer for. As I confessed, his dick sinks deeper into me, slamming into my spot and once more I cry out, pleasure eclipsing through my body in quick, dizzying waves and I can feel the ripening of an orgasm rooting in my belly. 

“Tom,” I whisper, his name readily becoming the only legible sound in my throat. “Tom, I-I’m going to. I’m going t-to come.” “No,” he says, hand still firm on his dick. “Not yet.” I groan impatiently, my eyebrows knitting in sweet frustration, release desperate on my tongue as my bones ripen into a spiritual euphoria. “Please, Tom,”I beg, my hips crudely grinding themselves onto my fingers, against his dick. I whimper for him softly, stars hollow in my eyes as my hand begins to stroke my erection, precome sifting between thin fingers and I know that his hand is moving just as fast, just as boldly. “Please let me come. I need to come.” He groans harshly into the phone and I run my tongue along smooth metal, savoring him.

“Let me come in you, Billa. Let me fucking come inside you.”

I whine for him again, fervently squeezing around my fingers so powerfully that I could feel them deaden inside me and I nod my head pathetically, my mouth agape as pleasure becomes a complete metamorphosis of my body, my hips rocking against my fingers with a wild determination, my body swiftly dipping into a phosphorescence and this was where I could feel him engorge inside me, ready to burst. I finish my eulogy and begin my wedding vows. “Yes yes please oh god come inside me Tom come inside your little whore please fill me up please I want it I want all your fucking come.” And just like that he shouts into the phone, into my ear, into my mouth as he comes with an earth-shattering roar, successfully uprooting my bones into the precious tangle of his own, his come warm and welcome in the heat of my body which has now crossed over into a different world, my limbs diluted and robed entirely with the cloth of his love, full of nothing but his cock as I come with a fantastic sound, my voice echoing and swelling with a puerile resonance that could have made him come a second time, my thighs shudder with a mad frenzy, my bones constricting and contracting as the vines of my orgasm wrap and wreath themselves around every nerve, faithfully loving them as my stomach becomes painted with white. 

My fingers loosen and tumble out of my twitching hole just as his dick softens, lazily pulls out, stray pearls of come staining the rose of my inner thigh. The first breath I take is real and I sigh against the phone, lovingly tracing the dips of my collar bones. A satisfied sound leaves my lips and kisses him through the phone and he laughs quietly. He descends, my tired soldier no longer God, no longer Judas, just Tom. He pulls me into his universe and I assign myself to be his brightest star, illuminating his world. His lips find mine and we kiss, honey and wine slipping between our lips. My mouth presses itself against the face of the phone and faintly, I can feel his mouth melt into mine.


End file.
